Page 223 of Falling For The Boss

“No, I won’t,” Ham says bluntly.

“You won’t miss working with me?” Once I get over the shock of what he just said, a lot more emotion rushes through me. This doesn’t hurt—it makes me mad. I’m the best agent here. I’ve saved the world—sort of—and Ham didn’t like working with me?

“Ah…” Declan seems to want to be anywhere but here, but Ham blocks the doorway of the tiny room. “Maybe we should go.”

“Don’t bother. Ham has nothing to say that I want to hear.”

“Don’t be childish.” I take a step back at the snap of Ham’s words. I’ve seen him angry before, but not like this. Not at me.

“Too bad, because I am childish. Maybe you should go back and talk to your friend Jacqueline if you want a real woman.”

That was such a bad thing to say.

It’s so bad that I have no other option than to push past my brothers, past Ham, being extra careful not to brush against him, and leave them all in my room.

Chapter Five

The snow crunches loudly under my foot and I pause, mid-step. Beside me, Nick shakes his head. Outside the circle of lights of the facility, the night is as dark as they come.

I’ve been partnered with Nick for eighteen months now, and even in the dark, I can recognize Nick by his scent. It’s a mix of his cologne—which is a combo of musk, vanilla, and something that smells like gasoline, but obviously isn’t—coffee, but not the I-work-at-Starbucks smell because he only drinks the really good stuff, and the tang of these cherry candies he’s addicted to. He’s actually got made once while we were on a stake-out because of how nice he smells. And it is a nice smell. Comfortable. The Nick smell.

I don’t have to tell Ham we’ve reached the building since he should be able to see us on the screen. I’ve had a tracker under the skin at the back of my neck since I started with the Agency.

Being eighteen and having your grandfather know exactly where you are at all times is not recommended.

Besides, I have no interest in speaking to Ham.

Nick holds up the keycard and swipes it. I was surprised there wasn’t other security, but Nick pointed out earlier that we’re in the wilderness of Kivitenstan, smack between Kazakhstan and Siberia, and folks just don’t wander around in a place like this.

The airstrip is four kilometres away. Not that we came in that way—we jumped from the plane, flying low under any radar, and landed on the edge of the forest where Ham met us. We’ll be picked up there in exactly seventy-five minutes by a stealth helicopter borrowed from France’s DGSE for the mission.

The only thing I wanted was to apologize to him, but I’m not about to. And he said nothing to me, other than instructions and a warning about the possibility of a storm blowing into the area, so that’s that. It’s already snowing, big fat flakes floating lazily from the sky.

I’ve never gone on a mission angry at Ham because I’ve never really been mad at him for longer than five minutes.

I don’t like it.

*

Thirty-four minutes later…

“You need to get out,” Ham says, his voice deep and loud in my ear.

“No, we need to blow it.” It was Nick’s suggestion that we blow up the facility, but I’m the one Ham is arguing with. Despite my age, I’m the senior agent on this mission, but it feels Ham has a problem with me.

Or maybe I have the problem with him.

“Charlotte, no. There’s no time.”

“If we don’t do it now, you have to send in another team, so it’s better if we take care of it now.”

Our look-a-round found a launch facility that is primed and ready, needing only an armed missile to declare war on an unsuspecting country. And the fact that Kivitenstan doesn’t have global authority for such a weapon, and yet built a silo that is ripe and ready to go, suggests nefarious dealings are afoot.

If Nick and I don’t take care of it now, another team will have to come back and deal with it. Or, worse, before that can happen, those in charge might get hold of a missile and who knows what will happen. Blowing this up could prevent a war, and that’s technically in my job description.

“There’s no exit plan in place for that,” Ham continues, sounding ragged and just a little flustered, which is unusual for Ham Short. “You will—”

“I’ll make it up as we go along.” Nick and I are enclosed in a supply closet a few levels below the surface and he holds a thin flashlight as I pull explosives out of my knapsack. “We’re good. It’s the right call. We’re doing this.”

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